Aurora
The clubhouse was quieter now. The tension that had once hummed beneath every surface was gone, replaced by an uneasy calm.
Men moved around her without watching her, without guarding her, and without measuring her steps.
She wasn’t a liability anymore, and she wasn’t in danger, and they were letting her have her freedom.
She just wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Maybe she was done, and that thought scared the hell out of her.
She folded Nitro’s shirt carefully before setting it aside.
She didn’t pack it, not wanting to assume that was what he wanted.
That felt like crossing a line she wasn’t ready to admit existed.
Nitro had ended the threat. He’d burned down the past that had chased her for years.
He’d done it without hesitation, without asking for anything in return.
And now? Now she didn’t know where she fit.
Men like Nitro didn’t need women who reminded them of blood and war and collateral damage.
He’d stepped into hell for her—but that didn’t mean he wanted to live with the aftermath.
He shouldn’t have to, and she knew a way to make that happen.
If she took off now, she’d break both of their hearts, but she knew that by leaving, Nitro would get his life back.
He deserved to have his old life back before they met.
She turned his world upside down, and it was about time that she helped him right it.
This is it; she told herself. This is what you wanted.
She was lying to herself, but she was too tired to call herself on her bullshit.
Freedom and distance—it was what Nitro and she both deserved, even if the thought of never seeing him again was killing her.
She didn’t want to be the reason someone had to bleed anymore—there had already been too much bloodshed on her behalf.
She was almost at the gate when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
“Aurora.” She froze and slowly turned. Nitro stood a few yards away, hands loose at his sides, expression unreadable.
She saw no anger in his eyes. There was no accusation.
She only saw something steady and watchful that made her chest ache.
“You leaving?” he asked.
She swallowed. “I didn’t want to make this harder than it needs to be.”
“For who?” he asked.
“For you,” she said honestly. “You got your life back. Your club and your missions are waiting for you.” Her voice wavered despite her best effort. “You don’t need me hanging around now that everything’s over. I’ll just weigh you down.”
Nitro took a step closer. “You think you were an obligation? That’s bullshit. You never weighed me down, Aurora. I love you, and you’re willing to throw that all away. Maybe you’re the one who wants your freedom. Maybe you think that I’ll weigh you down.”
She shrugged helplessly. “I think you’re done fighting for me.”
He stopped right in front of her. “Aurora, I didn’t fight for you.” Her breath caught as she waited for him to finish what he was going to say. “I fought with you,” he said. “Big difference.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how to stay somewhere I’m not needed.”
Nitro’s jaw tightened. “You honestly believe that I don’t need you?
Did you miss the part where I just admitted that I’m in love with you?
” She hadn’t, but she was trying to ignore it because if she didn’t, she’d break down and tell him that she felt the same way about him.
And if she did that, she’d never be able to leave.
She looked at him then—really looked. He was the man who’d chosen her when she was still running. Who’d dismantled monsters without turning her into one. “I don’t know how to just—be,” she whispered. “I know how to run. It’s what I do, and I’m good at it.”
He softened, just a little. “Why not stay and learn how to just be?” he whispered. He was ripping her heart out, and Aurora knew that if she didn’t leave now, she never would.
The gate creaked softly in the distance, the road beyond it stretching open and familiar.
Running would be easy. Staying would be terrifying.
Aurora adjusted the strap of her bag and stood there, caught between the only survival she’d ever known and the possibility of something more.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to run to stay alive.
Freedom gave her the right to make the decision as to whether she stayed or went, but she had to choose.
And right now, she needed to choose herself.
It was the only way to move forward—for both of them.
Aurora had been gone for almost a month, and she wasn’t any closer to forgetting about Nitro—not that she’d be able to ever forget him. The question was, would Nitro be able to easily forget her after just four weeks?
At first, he had called her every day, leaving messages, and when she didn’t answer, he resorted to texting. She knew how much Nitro hated texting, so it said something that he’d be willing to text her. She found herself reading his messages over and over until the screen blurred.
Just tell me you’re okay.
You don’t have to come back if you’re not ready.
I just need to know you’re safe.
She never replied. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew herself too well.
If she heard his voice, if she let herself answer even one message, she’d talk herself into going back to him, and Aurora couldn’t do that to him.
He deserved a fresh start that didn’t involve someone with her history.
After spending weeks on her own again, she thought that she’d begin the healing process by this point in her journey.
She considered herself to be a strong woman.
She had to in order to have survived the Saints, but every day she woke up feeling as though she couldn’t continue on her own.
That was ridiculous, though, because she had been alone most of her life and had been just fine.
Maybe being with Nitro had spoiled her, but that was something that she’d have to get over.
It was just taking longer than she liked.
Unfortunately, healing didn’t arrive like a finish line, and she was learning that the hard way.
The weeks after the Saints fell apart weren’t as triumphant as she thought that they would be.
They felt strange—she felt strange. Her mind was too quiet in places where fear had once filled every corner, and that confused her more than she wanted to admit.
She had stayed with Nitro longer than she’d ever stayed anywhere before and discovered that peace wasn’t a destination.
It was work that she had to do daily—sometimes hourly.
Some mornings she woke before dawn, her heart racing and her body convinced something was wrong even when nothing was. Other mornings she slept late, heavy with exhaustion that had nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with finally letting herself feel safe.
Aurora took a job at a repair shop outside the small town where she was staying.
It wasn’t permanent because nothing in her life ever was.
She knew that and even accepted it to a point.
The work was honest, and it kept her hands busy when her thoughts threatened to spiral.
She liked the routine and the predictability of her new job.
No one at the repair shop knew her past or asked about the scars she didn’t bother hiding anymore.
They saw a woman who worked hard, kept to herself, and showed up on time. That was enough for now.
Still, every night, when the day wound down and the quiet crept in, her thoughts returned to Nitro.
She missed the way he watched her—not like she was something fragile, but like she was something worth protecting.
She missed the silence they shared, the way he never filled it just to ease his own discomfort.
She missed the steady weight of him beside her, the certainty of knowing she wasn’t alone even when she felt broken.
Leaving him had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.
It was harder than running, and harder than surviving.
Because this time, she hadn’t been escaping danger when she left.
She’d been running away from love. Aurora told herself it was temporary and that she just needed time and space.
Distance enough to figure out who she was without leaning on someone else’s strength.
But late at night, when the world was quiet, and her phone sat dark on the nightstand, she wondered if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life, leaving Nitro. And whether loving someone meant knowing when to let them go—even when every part of you wanted to stay.